§ 12

There was an uneasy shuffle of relief throughout the room. The situation, though still painful, had been cleared of an exasperating side-issue. But at the same time Mary was uncomfortably aware that she had changed the focus of her father’s anger from her brother to herself.

“What do you mean?” he rapped out, when the sound of George’s protesting retreat had died away.

“I mean that you and George have been arguing for nothing. As I told you some time ago, I haven’t the slightest intention of marrying Charles.”

“And why not, may I ask?”

“Because I’ve had enough of marriage.”

“But Mary, think of us—think of your family,” wailed Lady Alard—“what are we going to do if you don’t marry?”

“I can’t see what difference it will make.”

“It will make all the difference in the world. If you marry Charles and go abroad for a bit, you’ll find that after a time people will receive you—I don’t say here, but in London. If you don’t marry, you will always be looked upon with suspicion.”

“Why?”

“Married women without husbands always are.”

“Then in spite of all the judges and juries and courts and decrees, I’m still a married woman?”

“I don’t see what else you’re to call yourself, dear. You’re certainly not a spinster, and you can’t say you’re a widow.”

“Then if I marry again I shall have two husbands, and in six months Julian will have two wives.”

Lady Alard began to weep.

“For God’s sake! let’s stop talking this nonsense,” cried Sir John. “Mary’s marriage has been dissolved, and her one chance of reinstating herself—and us—is by marrying this man who’s been the cause of all the trouble. I say it’s her duty—she’s brought us all into disgrace, so I don’t think it’s asking too much of her to take the only possible way of getting us out, even at the sacrifice of her personal inclinations.”

“Father—I never asked you to defend the case. I begged you not to—all this horror we have been through is due to your defence.”

“If you’d behaved properly there would have been no case at all, and if you had behaved with only ordinary discretion the defence could have been proved. When I decided that we must, for the honour of the family, defend the case, I had no idea what an utter fool you had been. Your cross-examination was a revelation to me as well as to the court. You’ve simply played Old Harry with your reputation, and now the only decent thing for you to do is to marry this man and get out.”

“I can get out without marrying this man.”

“And where will you go?”

“I shall go abroad. I have enough money of my own to live on quietly, and I needn’t be a disgrace to anyone. If I marry Charles I shall only bring unhappiness to both of us.”

“Oh, Mary, do be reasonable!” cried Lady Alard—“do think of the girls”—with a wave that included both twenty-two and thirty-eight—“and do think how all this is your own fault. When you first left Julian, you should have come here and lived at home, then no one would ever have imagined anything. But you would go off and live by yourself, and think you could do just the same as if you weren’t married—though I’m sure I’d be sorry to see Jenny going about with anyone as you went about with Charles Smith. When I was engaged to your father, we were hardly ever so much as left alone in a room together——”

“Your reminiscences are interesting, my dear,” said Sir John, “but cast no light on the situation. The point is that Mary refuses to pay the price of her folly, even though by doing so she could buy out her family as well as herself.”

“I fail to see how.”

“Then you must be blind.”

“It seems to me it would be much better if I went right away. I’ve made a hideous mess of my life, and brought trouble upon you all—I acknowledge that; but at least there’s one thing I will not do—and that is walk with my eyes open into the trap I walked into ten years ago with my eyes shut.”

“Then you need expect nothing more from your family.”

“I won’t.”

“Father,” said Peter—“if she isn’t fond of the chap....”

Mary interrupted him.

“Don’t—it isn’t quite that. I am fond of him. I’m not in love with him or anything romantic, but I’m fond of him, and for that very reason I won’t take this way out. He’s twenty years older than I am, and set in his bachelor ways—and I firmly believe that only chivalry has made him stand by me as he has done. He doesn’t in his heart want to marry a woman who’s ruined and spoiled ... and I won’t let him throw himself away. If I leave him alone, he can live things down—men always can; but if I marry him, he’ll sink with me. And I’ve nothing to give him that will make up to him for what he will suffer. I won’t let him pay such a price for ... for being ... kind to me.”

Nobody spoke a word. Perhaps the introduction of Charles Smith’s future as a motive for refusing to use him to patch up the situation struck the Alards as slightly indecent. And Mary suddenly knew that if the argument were resumed she would yield—that she was at the end of her resources and could stand out no longer. Her only chance of saving Charles’s happiness and her own soul now lay in the humiliation of flight. There is only one salvation for the weak and that is to realise their weakness. She rose unsteadily to her feet. A dozen miles seemed to yawn between her and the door....

“Where are you going, Mary?” asked Sir John—“we haven’t nearly finished talking yet.”

Would anybody help her?—yes—here was Jenny unexpectedly opening the door for her and pushing her out. And in the hall was Gervase, his Ford lorry throbbing outside in the drive.

“Gervase!” cried Mary faintly—“if I pack in ten minutes, will you take me to the station?”